Chapter 7
Before he takes the driver’s seat, the Monster Hunter chucks his night vision goggles in the back, slides out of his Kevlar duster, then carefully places his shotgun with its back scabbard holster in the footwell behind me. (Within easy grabbing distance, I’m sure!)
The duster gets folded and put over the goggles on the back seat next to Collin, who now sits inside, gaping out his (still closed) window with the eager expression of a dog on day trip to the park.
That he’s made it into the car at all is hella strange.
I don’t care how liberally old San Francisco drew those property lines, we’re over a block and a half away from the front lawn of that corner mansion!
He really shouldn’t be able to exist this far away from the house, not if he died there!
I’m beginning to wonder if now I’m the thing he’s haunting.
Could the watch be some kind of ghost magnet?
The Monster Hunter drops into the driver’s seat next to me, and for the first time, I get to see his face without the high-tech optics.
And let’s just say, it’s not what I expected.
First of all, he’s young. Like still-in-his-twenties young.
Black hair, dark skin. (He said he was part of the “Peralta clan,” so what does that mean, Mexican ancestry?
Portuguese? Maybe a mix?) And his chiseled, clean cut, perfectly symmetrical features look like they should belong to a fitness influencer with a million followers, not a cut-throat warrior.
He does have one small scar on his left eyebrow, but it just makes him look more…
dashing, I guess. What I’m trying to say is that this paranormal-killing-machine is actually really freaking handsome.
Super-model handsome. Much, much hotter than any Monster Hunter has any right to be.
And no, for the record, that doesn’t mean I want to pounce on him right now.
Chances are he’s still going to murder me, which is kind of a boner-kill, you know?
But I don’t do well around cute guys in general, so his Instagram thirst-trap looks are just one more reason for me to feel completely freaked out.
Because, you know, I needed something else to freak out about tonight. Thank you, Universe!
I realize I’m full-on staring, which (crap!) he totally just noticed, so I follow Collin’s lead and quickly turn my head to look out the window. Maybe I can just do that the whole way home, avoid any conversation, and—
His hand grips my knee, and it’s all I can do not to squeak and leap up in fright.
(Let’s be real: I actually do both those things.) I then glance over at him through the corner of my eye, and he’s looking at me with a smile that smolders with amusement.
(Dude, your fingers are inches away from my inner thigh! How do you expect me to react?!)
“Still a little tense after those vamps, huh? Let’s get you home. What’s your address?”
I force myself not to hyperventilate while I debate about whether I should lie about this.
I probably should just give him some corner near my bus line and hoof it from there.
But somehow I just know he’ll want to watch me go into my building, to make sure I “make it back safely.” And anyway, it’s like 3:30 in the morning by now and, to be honest, I just want to crawl into my own bed, pull the covers over my head, and pretend I never was born.
“I’m, uh, at Jones and O’Farrell.” I get the words out, but my throat is so tight, it’s sounds like I’m having a second puberty.
“All right.”
He removes his hand (thank you!), but then reaches over me, bicep grazing my nipple (!), bringing our faces inches apart (!!), so he can pull my seatbelt around me and snap it in. (OMG, dude! I swear, I’m really not five years old!)
I’m now literally locked in place.
He responds to my look of terror with a wink. “Safety first, right?” (It’s like he’s enjoying messing with me!) Then he sticks out his massive hand for a handshake, his smolder-grin broadening. “I’m Rafa.”
His teeth are perfectly white and straight. Because of course they are.
Well, I’m in it for keeps now. I have to keep playing along.
After jerking forward way too quickly and triggering the seatbelt (Yep!
I’m trapped!), I manage to shake his hand, doing my best to give him a firm grip.
(The kind I figure he’s used to from his other paranormal-slaughtering bros.) I don’t even bother trying to make up a name.
I’m so spun up at this point, there’s no way I’d get a false one out in time without looking suspicious.
“I’m Alvin,” I croak, before clearing my throat. “Nice to meet you. Thank you again, uh, for everything.”
Crap. My voice is so high-pitched, I might as well be five!
But he just gives me another wink and says “Nice name.” He then starts the car, gliding it smoothly onto the street with polished confidence. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”
Seriously, the last thing I’m up for is chit-chat at this point. And the more I say, the more I risk tipping him off. So I keep it short.
“I’m twenty-two.”
“Oh. Nice. Good.” I cock an eyebrow at that (it’s clearly weird, right?!) so he adds. “You just looked… younger.”
Of course, I did! Now I can’t help asking: “And how old are you, dude?”
“Twenty-three.” He gives me another one of those smolder-smiles. “Never met a paranormal investigator before. One of my uncles worked with one, though. In Chicago. Said he could do crazy shit. Shoot fireballs, turn invisible, that kind of thing.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, wishing I could turn invisible.
I’m expecting him to ask me about what kind of spells I can cast (um, zero!), but he actually just keeps going.
Drops a whole string of sentence fragments about how this uncle from back East (“Stewie”—more distant cousin than uncle, apparently) and this Chicago PI took out a small army of goblins.
I got the impression before that he didn’t talk much, but here he is, practically giving me a full soliloquy.
It’s like he’s trying hard to be casual.
(As casual as a killing machine can be, anyway.) Or worse, like he’s trying to hide something.
My anxiety cranks up a notch. What if this is all an act, and he does know what I am?
Maybe he wouldn’t want to murder me in his car.
That’d make an awful mess, right? But I’m sure they have lovely, easy-to-clean dissection rooms back at Monster Hunter Central.
Better to put me at ease in the moment so I go there quietly, right?
(And okay, I know I’m probably overreacting!
If I’m being honest, he hasn’t done anything, except be overbearingly nice to me.
But I’m telling you, there’s an edge in his voice that makes me feel like something else is going on here, so I can’t help but stew with my head spinning around and around questions like: “What is this dude’s deal?
” “What does he really want with me?” And “How exactly can I throw myself out of the car without giving him any warning?”) My anxiety is so freaking triggered, I need to grab my own fingers to keep from nervously tapping on the arm rest.
“Psst, Alvin! Tell him you just want to help people!”
I snap out of my fear spiral and notice Collin is leaning over my shoulder from the back seat, practically hissing in my ear. I must have been spacing out for a bit there. Rafa is glancing over at me, eyebrows raised, clearly having asked me a question.
I really, really, really don’t want to seem weird to this Monster Hunter right now. And I have no idea what he asked me so, as instructed, I say, “Um, you know, I just want to help people?”
That seems to have been the right thing to say because Rafa chuckles, pleased. “Cool. I was born into the family business, but you actually sought it out on your own? That’s fire. When did you find out you had magical talent?”
“Good job!” Collin says. “Now tell him, ‘When I was fifteen, I realized I could sense magic, and it wasn’t long after that, I wondered if there was some way I could use what I could do to make a difference.‘”
That is, of course, totally not true. I was born with the ability to sense magic, and it was only after meeting Stryker a few months ago that I got this idea about trying to use my innate magic to help people.
Collin is apparently still feeding me lines, which ordinarily would be extremely annoying.
But I’m so up my own butt at the moment, I don’t think I could remember what year it is, let alone the cover story I told Ms. Stryker.
So, I just repeat Collin’s words like I’m some TV news anchor, which gets Rafa nodding.
“Huh,” he says. “You really sense magic. I know a lot of paranormals can do that, but I heard someplace it’s super rare in humans.”
Oh, crap.
My eyes must be as wide as saucers, because Collin squeezes my arm. “Don’t worry, Alvin. We’ve got this! He’s not going to go down any path we don’t want him to. You just need to change the subject. Ask him why he works on his own. They almost never do that.”
Sure, okay, whatever!
“Heh, heh. I guess it is kinda rare,“ I say. “But, uh, so is working on your own as a Monster Hunter, right?”
Rafa frowns, and his face immediately darkens. For a moment, I wonder if Collin just threw me under a completely different bus. But then he says, a bit husky “Yeah. It is.” He glances down, and his eyes look… sad?
Silence then hangs in the air. We aren’t talking anymore (which is a plus!) but for some reason, I feel low-key bad for bumming this guy out.
But Collin is super chipper. “Brilliant, Alvin! Now touch his shoulder and say, ‘What we do. It can be a little lonely sometimes, huh?’”